VIII. 1/25/08

She gave Chief Kalel her best attempt at an even stare. "So, am I voted off the island?"

"We're in the Great Plains."

"The Mississippi isn't that far off."

"C'mon, Von Farmer," Kalel grumbled, "cut the wise-acre for a minute."

"Then I am, huh?"

"'Course not. Not with that finale on the last episode."

"I missed it."

"Yeah, sure you did. That final shot at the great red hen? Your drop and roll, and jump back onto your vehicle?" He paused, not believing she missed the broadcast, "The gratuitous cleavage shot?!" Her look of horror convinced him that she had not seen it. "Fogeddaboudit."

"I thought you were from Georgia."

"I've got the classic Sopranos DVD collection. Don't get me off topic!Maestro Perks is out. It was a close call."

That was a hard blow. Though he was a coffee drinker, he did have irresistable chocolate pants and a charming grin. "Dang."

"Don't feel bad. He's not really out; he's just not on the show. In fact, he's taking a few weeks in Hawaii to use his roll-over minutes."

"Oh."

Chief debriefed her on the latest sightings. They were unusual indeed. It seemed a ferocious, giant rogue Death Chicken had been ravaging McMansions thirty miles north of base. If shaky, six eyewitness testimonies were true, however, it was no chicken; it was a rooster, a capon to be exact.

"Did you talk to Crispy?" Grimironie asked. She could barely contain herself.

"He's not doing anymore over-time. He took a deal with a sponsor; it would cut into his P.R. time."

"Say what?"

"I know he wanted to tell you first, but they've offered him a six figure deal. It turns out the over-fifty female demographic is obsessed with him."

Double dog dang. Was there no end to the insanity? No wonder he's been getting facials and electrolysis for the last two weeks.

"I'm sending you in with MacHaggis."

If someone had slapped her in the face, she would have slapped back twice as hard. Unfortunately, her brain had stopped. She knew it was there, but it kept sending back a busy signal. Maybe it had caller ID and didn't want to pick up. At some point, Kalel's pert secretary walked her out into the waiting area and kindly dabbed the drool from the corner of Grimironie's mouth which was reluctant to return from the agape setting.
* * * *

Crispy's stool was empty at the bar that night. He had finally gotten a date. Ole Pappy placed her usual order in front of her. He too sensed that she had not yet located her brain. Everything took on a surreal tone. Even her cup of Constant Comment seemed menacing.

Could it be that Capon Frank waited within scant miles of base? Crispy had abandoned her. He'd left her to go it alone, and Chief tacked Three onto her shoulder for the ride. Three, she actually thought "Three." He was a distraction. She'd never worked with anyone except Crispy, and now, near the culmination of her goals, she was stuck with a pretty boy out to prove himself.
* * * *

After she felled the last Death Chicken, she walked away, upwind of the fowl odors. Something in her head still hadn't clicked back into place. Her best assessment was that she was still in shock. Crispy patted her shoulder and walked off, sensing that she needed some time. She stopped under a lone pine and scanned the fields ahead of her. The clouds formed an endless gray blanket and grasses spread for miles beneath. She squinted at the horizon, searching for a sign.

The last thing she wanted to hear was the rustling step of Maryn Stew coming after her. "I've been thinking, Grimironie- can I call you Grimironie?- that it would be Fan-Tas-Tic if I could put a cordless mike on you for your next stint in the field. And you need a catch phrase, something kitchy, catchy! For example, "Reap the whirlwind!" or "I'll be back!" It would be great for your image; the fans would eat it up. Tell me, if it's okay, just between you and me, what's it like to be out there? To kill a monster?"

Grimironie peered at the horizon. This host was like Three: thrilled at the spectacle with no real understanding of the game. "It's a hell of a thing, killin' a Death Chicken" she said between clenched teeth, "you take away all she's got, and all she's ever gonna have."

"Well that ain't me, Grimironie," Maryn sputtered, "Not no more. I don't need no fancy basters or a state pension. You keep it."

"Of course I will. The state wouldn't give you a pension anyway. Ask your employer about IRAs." The wind murmered. Maryn Stew retreated quietly, and thankfully she had some time alone.

It was dark when she got back to her ATV. She was surprised to see Crispy parked next to her.

"Glory is for the young, duckling. You're ready to go it alone. I gotta cut the apron strings sometime."

She had many rehearsed quips to sling at him, but suddenly none were appropriate. She was glad it was dark. "You do what you gotta do," she croaked, "I know you deserve it."

"Thanks duckling. Come on, you be my date tonight. Make all the other women jealous."

She laughed, "All right Mr. Metro-sexy."